


Better than Wonderland

by backtoblack101



Series: Some May Condemn These Vile Affections [5]
Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Meet the Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 15:44:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3655869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/backtoblack101/pseuds/backtoblack101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angie has her big break on Broadway and Peggy finally has to face her fear of meeting Angie's parents.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better than Wonderland

**Author's Note:**

> I told myself I was going to make this short.... 5000 words later that didn't happen.
> 
> Also there's a few allusions to previous works in the series in this story, so if you've not read the whole series there's some things that may make slightly more sense if you do.

Peggy Carter was a master of evasion. It was something that came hand in hand with her profession of course; sneaking in and out of building undetected by guards, dodging bullets while still managing to get in a shot or two of her own, slipping under the radar while carrying out an investigation to clear Howard Stark’s name. Yes, Peggy was the master of evasion, unless of course the threat posed to her came in the form of her girlfriend.

 “I can go another night Angie!” The statement was meant to sound like the final word in their argument, though instead it morphed into a plea on the tip of Peggy’s tongue.

“No you can’t Peg,” Angie fired back without pause. “It’s openin’ night; I’m playin’ the leads sister. This is my big break and you can’t miss it.”

“I don’t _plan_ on missing it.” Peggy pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed roughly. “I’ll go every other night for the next month to prove so if need be.”

“Or y’know, you come to the openin’ night like I asked.” Angie shrugged wildly as if it were such a crazy notion. “I mean I don’t get what’s so weird ‘bout me askin’, you’ve been to openin’ nights of plays when I’m just an extra. Hell, you went to a play where I was just an understudy.”

“Yes, but this is different,” Peggy insisted.

“How?” Angie snapped. “How is this so goddamn dif-“

“Because your family will be there too!” The second Peggy said it she knew she shouldn’t have and subconsciously she cringed back a little from her girlfriend – years of military training and all it took was a 5’4’’ Italian American ball of rage to put the fear of god into her.

Right on queue Angie released a sharp breath through her nostrils, much akin to a dragon getting ready to breathe fire. Then she stood abruptly from the couch they’d both been nestled at opposite corners of and stepped into the centre of the living room where she stopped and turned on her heel to face Peggy. Her eyes were like fire and her hands were balled into fists so tight her knuckles had gone white. It was times like this Peggy wished she was more religious.

“Ridiculous,” she seethed eventually. “This is ridiculous. You are ridiculous.” Peggy could see the clogs in her partner’s brain turning, reminding her to speak English rather than revert back to Italian as was typical when she was this annoyed. “We’ve been over, and over, and over, _and over_ this for two damn years now and you still refuse to even humour the idea of meetin’ ‘em.” If Angie wasn’t so mad Peggy was sure she’d be crying by now; she had a habit of crying when on this topic.

“I-“ Peggy’s weak attempt at an excuse was killed by a stare that could bring a man to his knees.

“I love you Peg. I love you so damn much but they’re my family.” Now Angie’s eyes were beginning to water and Peggy really wished they wouldn’t, it never helped her resolve. “An’ it kills me that to love you I gotta spend less time with them. It kills me that you refuse to meet ‘em, refuse to at least try and see what I see in ‘em.” Peggy opened her mouth then shut it; now wasn’t the time to grovel. “I just…” Angie paused, bringing a hand up to her mouth to stifle a sob. “… forget it,” she finished weakly, turning briskly and stepping out of the room before Peggy had a chance to react.

“Well…” Peggy sighed into the empty space around her. “Shite.”

-.-.-.-

Peggy found Angie an hour later, lying on the bed in their room staring at the ceiling, a frown still creasing her delicate features. “I’ll go to the play,” she muttered from the doorway.

“No, no Peg, wouldn’t want to put you out or anythin’.” She had that same snarky tone she always took when Peggy annoyed her; sometimes it still brought Peggy back to the very first time they argued that night in the Griffith.

Peggy sighed then stepped into the room, crossing the oak floor in her stocking clad feet and sitting at the edge of the bed, next to Angie’s shoulder. Angie still avoided her gaze though; her pointed stare even more fixated than before on the ceiling.

“I want to go,” she corrected. “I want to see you preform Angie I just…” She faltered; after all it was the same excuse again and again.

“You don’t want people to think we’re together.” Angie nodded but still didn’t look at her.

Peggy shrugged then looked away. “You deserve better.” It was all she could think to say that wasn’t the same old apology.

“I know,” Angie hummed, catching Peggy by surprise. “I deserve a nice dame that’ll gimme a bunch o’ violets after the show and not give a damn ‘bout who’s lookin’, or maybe a nice fella my Ma could take a shine to.” She finally looked away from the ceiling and caught Peggy’s eye, a small smile dancing at the corner of her lips. “And yet here I am silly enough to fall in love with you instead.”

Peggy laughed in amongst a sigh of relief. “Well I thank my lucky stars every day for how foolish you were in doing so.”

“I know.” Angie’s grin was soft and loving, and she tugged on Peggy’s hand then to pull her down then until the agents head rested against her shoulder and her arm draped across her waist. “And I also know you still get them nightmares every now an’ then about me gettin’ taken away, and I know you dream ‘bout other stuff too, like Russian assassins and German spies out to get us, so I know this kinda thing ain’t easy.” When she spoke she ran her short nails through Peggy’s curls in slow soothing motions. “But I promise you ain’t gotta worry about my family Peg. They love me and they’re gonna love you too an’ y’know what else?”

“What?” Peggy muttered; her voice barely over a whisper as she allowed Angie to put her at ease.

“You’re gonna love my Ma’s _lasagna_.”

-.-.-.-

Each billing cast member in the show was given three seats for family on opening night, and Angie’s were third row back, just off centre stage, “best seats in the house” according to Angie herself. Peggy arrived just on the dot of four, having gotten off work later than anticipated and having been forced to scar Jarvis potentially for life by getting changed in the back seat of the car on the way over. Still, she’d had just enough time to fix her hair and re-apply her lipstick before stepping into the crowded theatre, so in spite of her quick change act she felt she looked rather good for her first encounter with Angie’s parents, both of whom were already in their seats.

Peggy had to slide past a few people to reach her chair, and in doing so alerted Mr and Mrs Martinelli to her presence; both of them standing to greet her when she finally reached them.

“You must be Peggy!” Her mother greeted, and Peggy noted that Angie was built like her; slight shoulders and an angular bone structure. “I’m Angela’s mother Lucilla.”

“It’s a pleasure Mrs Martinelli,” Peggy replied politely, extending her hand.

“Ah child no,” Mrs Martinelli swatted away the formality. “I call my mother-in-law Mrs Martinelli, you can call me Lucilla.” Then without warning she grabbed Peggy’s still extended hand and pulled her in for a hug.

“You’ve called my mother a lot worse than Mrs Martinelli,” the man behind Lucilla joked, extending his hand towards Peggy when his wife let go of her. “I’m Angela’s father Antonio.”

Peggy grasped his hand, noting that while Angie may have inherited her mother’s build it was her father’s captivating blue eyes and toothy, care-free grin that made her who she was. “It’s a pleasure.”

“So,” Lucilla began as they all took their seats. “You live with Angela?”

Peggy didn’t know why her palms were suddenly sweaty; it was a simple question after all. “Yes,” she nodded quickly. “We’re housemates.” _Just housemates_ she wanted to add, but instead she just waited for the next question.

Lucilla hummed and nodded slowly, and for a second Peggy’s brain screamed at her telling her she’d said something wrong, that she’d slipped up somehow. “She’s clean, ain’t she?” Was all Angie’s mother said however, and for a second Peggy was baffled. “I mean she ain’t a slob?”

“Oh,” Peggy was slightly taken aback by the question, but recovered quickly. “No, no, Angie loves to clean actually, the house is spotless.”

Mrs Martinelli nodded proudly. “That’s my girl.” She leaned in then, as if to tell Peggy her deepest secret. “The trick is to have ‘em in the habit of cleanin’ from a young age see, then by the time they’re grown they’ll find they don’t really mind doin’ it.”

“Ah,” Peggy smiled and nodded at the other woman’s tip. “Genius.”

“It’s the same with cookin’,” Lucilla went on. “Mind you our Angela’s always loved cookin’ so that was never really a battle. Ain’t that right Antonio?” She turned then for her husband’s conformation.

“Our Angela could cook any dinner under the sun,” her husband agreed. “Deserts though, deserts is where she shines.” He leaned in a little further on his seat to look Peggy properly in the eye. “You ever tried our Angela’s _panna cotta_?”

“Yes,” Peggy nodded enthusiastically at the memory. “It was divine.”

Angie’s father smiled. “Live heaven on a plate.”

The lights dimmed then before another word could be said between them, and all three of them turned their attention to the stage as a sudden hush fell over the room. In the darkness Peggy smiled to herself; perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad.

-.-.-.-

Intermission was short, and by the time Peggy had run to the bathroom and checked at the ticket desk to make sure there’d been no calls left for her she was only able to talk briefly with Angie’s parents about how good the play had been so far before the theatre lulled once more in preparation for the second act.

This was where Angie had her big number, and after weeks of listening to her partner practicing the song over and over to smooth out the rough notes and perfect the high ones, Peggy found herself singing along quietly in the crowd; a proud smile plastered across her face the entire time. When it was over Peggy sat back in her seat, not having realised she’d been inching forward the entire time. It was only then she noticed Mrs Martinelli’s eyes on her.

“She’s good, isn’t she?” Mrs Martinelli’s proud smile engulfed her entire face.

“The best,” Peggy agreed, her own smile still not having faltered.

“And you help her practice?”

Peggy blushed a little, presuming Mrs Martinelli guessed that from the way she’d been singing along. “Not with the song, that’s all Angie, I just helped her run lines.”

“Good,” Mrs Martinelli nodded. “My Angela doesn’t like admitting it, but she needs help sometimes. You’re a good friend.” She turned back to face the stage then and after a long moment Peggy did the same.

-.-.-.-

Angie had told Peggy and her parents that she’d meet them across the street from the stage door once the show ended and that’s where the three found themselves huddled now, chatting quietly while at the same time keeping one eye on the door across the street for any sign of Angie emerging. The first few to exit were dancers and some of the behind the scenes people, though eventually the main cast started to filter out, with Angie being one of the first of them out the door.

When Peggy saw her she was all at once overcome with the desire to kiss her; to pull her up into her arms and kiss her until they both ran out of air, then kiss her again and again, muttering in between their shallow gasps for air how proud she was of her and how much she loved her right then in that moment.

She was standing on a busy New York street between Angie’s two parents though, so instead she did nothing but watch as her partner crossed the street and allowed her mother to pull her into a hug first, quickly followed by her father. It was only then that the two actually looked at one another, and for a split second she saw the same desire in Angie that she felt in herself. The look was gone as quickly as it had come though, and Angie cleared her throat to speak.

“So, what ya think English?” Her parents had of course sung her praises as they’d hugged her, though it was Peggy’s opinion she was after, knowing she’d never tell her a lie.

“Incredible Angie,” Peggy gushed, taking a tentative step forward and wrapping the other woman in a tentative hug, careful not to hold her too close or squeeze her too tight. “It really was magnificent.”

When they stepped away Angie’s smile was wide and giddy and again Peggy felt the same desire in the pit of her stomach to kiss the look off her face. This time the only thing that stopped her was the sound of Mrs Martinelli’s voice, drawing her back to reality with a faint blush.

“It really was a beautiful show Angela,” her mother reiterated, throwing an arm over her daughters shoulder as she spoke. “And now we must go home so I can cook the perfect dinner to celebrate it.”

-.-.-.-

They were late getting back to Angie’s parents’ house in Harlem, though it was a Sunday evening and Angie had Monday off, as did Peggy thanks to her willingness to work a Sunday instead, so neither were in any rush and therefore quite happy to lounge about Angie’s living room until Mrs Martinelli finished cooking – not that it was an option for either of them.

“Broadway star or not, you ain’t gettin’ outta helpin’ your mother cook!” She insisted, thrusting a tomato into her daughter’s hand. “Dice that for the sauce,” she ordered, turning then to face an amused Peggy.

“And I don’t know what you’re smilin’ at.” At once Peggy’s grin fell. “You may not be my daughter but you’re in my kitchen.” She handed Peggy a zucchini and a bag of mushrooms. “Slice nice and thin honey.” Then she was handed a knife and steered towards the chopping board next to the one being used by Angie.

Peggy glanced at Angie, still slightly bewildered, only to find her partner giggling quietly as she diced the tomato. “You got schooled by my Ma,” she whispered teasingly and, after a quick glance to make sure Mrs Martinelli wasn’t watching, Peggy hip checked her roughly to shut her up.

After that they worked mostly in silence and Peggy very quickly realised where Angie had picked up her cooking talent. It was obvious she’d spent a lot of time in the kitchen with her mother, from the way she moved onto the next task without having to ask; to the way they effortlessly glided around one another checking on different pots and pans. In fact once Peggy had finished slicing her zucchini and mushrooms she really felt quite useless, standing to one side unless called on to stir a pot or wipe down a counter.

Not that she minded feeling useless. It gave her the chance to admire the smells coming from the dishes both Martinelli women were toiling over and the colours blending together in the various pots and pans they occasionally shook or stirred. Not to mention the view she got of Angie, more at ease and more beautiful than she’d ever saw her as she added a little pepper to one of the pots.

“Perfect,” Mrs Martinelli hummed eventually, sliding an assortment of sautéed vegetables into a bowl. “Angela, Peggy, you girls set the table, I’ll get Antonio.” She looked over at the two girls; Peggy holding a serving dish as Angie scrapped _fettuccine alfredo_ into it. “Then we can eat.”

“Bout time too,” Angie huffed under her breath once her mother was out of the room.

“Now, now,” Peggy scolded with a half-smile, placing the serving dish full of pasta down on the counter. “You can’t rush a good meal.”

Angie rolled her eyes. “You’re just sayin’ that cos you’re tryin’ to make a good impression.” She turned then to open the cutlery drawer, though not before she caught the faint beginnings of a blush colouring Peggy’s cheeks. “Which you don’t need to do by the way,” she continued once she’d retrieved a handful of cutlery. “They couldn’t not love ya.”

“Hardly,” Peggy scoffed although her blush grew at the sincerity of Angie’s tone.

“Well,” Angie shrugged, still smiling. “I love ya, don’t I.” Then without giving Peggy a chance to respond she thrust the forks and knives she was holding into her partner’s hands. “Now, throw these out while I get glasses, if Ma comes back in here and the table ain’t set we won’t be eatin’ this evenin’ and all that work’ll have been for nothin’.”

-.-.-.-

There had been enough food cooked to feed the entire 107th, and yet over the next two and a half hours Peggy, Angie and her parents managed to devour the majority of it themselves; taking their time on each course and piling their plates high with different pasta dishes, as well as a slathering of meat and vegetables that left Peggy feeling like she’d gained a stone by the time they rose from the table and moved their conversation to the small, cluttered living room where Angie’s father produced a bottle of burboun from one of the presses.

“The good stuff,” he insisted, throwing a playful wink at Angie and Peggy who sat on the couch opposite him and his wife.

“Da, we gotta leave here some time tonight y’know,” Angie argued, even as her father placed four glasses on the table between the two couches and began pouring measured amounts of the brown liquid into each.

“Ice?” Her father asked Peggy, ignoring his daughter’s complaint.

“Da!” Angie protested again while Peggy looked between the two awkwardly, unsure of whether or not she should be answering.

“Angela its fine,” her mother interrupted. “You’ll both stay here tonight, save you traveling all the way across the city.”

“But Ma-“ Angie fell silent when her mother raised her hand in the air.

“I already have your room made up an’ the fold-out bed ready, you’ll be stayin’ here and there’ll be no more arguin’.” There was something very final in her voice that reminded Peggy of the tone Angie took when they were having an argument as well. “Now Peggy, would you like ice?” She asked again, ignoring the look of contempt on her daughters face.

“Oh,” Peggy suddenly remembered the initial question. “No, it’s fine on its own, thank you.”

-.-.-.-

By the time Angie had decided they were all going to call it a night Peggy had consumed more bourbon than she’d originally intended, not that it had been her choice. She’d been quite happy to cradle the one she’d initially been given as she listened to stories of the time Angie had gotten her arm stuck between the bars of her cot as a child, or the time she’d decided to run away from home because her mother had refused to cook her favourite meal, though Mr Martinelli had very quickly realised she wasn’t drinking, and urged her to finish so he could pour her another.

“C’mon.” Angie stood on her own shaky feet and held a hand out for Peggy to grab on her way up. “Think it’s about time we were calling it a night.”

“Sounds excellent.” Peggy turned then to Mr and Mrs Martinelli, both of whom were also getting ready to turn in. “Goodnight, and thank you for dinner and the entire evening.”

“It was our pleasure honey,” Mrs Martinelli informed her happily. “You just get yourself a good night sleep.”

Peggy smiled then felt Angie gently tugging on her hand and so she allowed herself to be led out of the living room and down the hall, stopping outside a door that had Angie’s name written across the front in blue paint.

“Did it myself when I was eight,” Angie explained, noticing what had caught Peggy’s eye.

Peggy just nodded then and Angie opened the door, leading Peggy for the first time into her childhood room. She hadn’t been sure what to expect, whether it would have been cleared out after Angie left home or if it would have been preserved by her parents for when Angie came to visit. As it turned out it was an oddly charming mixture of both. The plain cream wallpaper was brighter in places where posters and pictures had once hung, though Angie’s cream and blue bedspread was still the same as it had been the day she left, and her small shelf still held all the books Angie had talked about loving as a child and teenager.

The fold-out bed sat in the corner, wedged between Angie’s wardrobe and the foot of her bed. It reminded Peggy of something she’d slept on while stationed in Allied-France; the springs rusted and the legs ready to bend in and snap, with a thin mattress just a little too big to fit on the bed properly. Still, the sheets were clean which made it an immediate improvement on its French counterpart.

“Don’t worry,” Angie muttered as she handed Peggy a pyjama set. “My bed’s big enough for us both.”

“It’s more than enough,” Peggy dismissed, still looking down at the rusted frame. “I’d rather stay there than risk either of your parents seeing us lying together.”

“They won’t,” Angie reassured her, reaching out briefly to squeeze her partner’s arm. “Ever since Mrs Armenti talked to my Ma when I was a kid she doesn’t come in without askin’ anymore.”

Peggy knew without asking who Mrs Armenti was and what she’d caught Angie doing with her daughter when she was a teenager. The fact Mrs Martinelli knew too did little to quell her anxieties.

“It’s one night in separate beds darling, it won’t-“ Peggy’s choked half way through her sentence when Angie leaned in to press a kiss against the corner of her lip.

“Y’know some of the worst memories of my life happened right there?” Angie pointed at the bed, her face still close enough for Peggy to feel the breath of her words against her lips.

“I can imagine so, yes.” Peggy could easily see a teenage Angie lying in bed at night listening to her mother crying over her, wondering if what happened would be forgotten or if she’d be sent to a convent to be ‘cured’ as well.

“So all I’m askin’ for is one night with you. No funny business, no foolin’ around, just fallin’ asleep together in my old bed so it ain’t all bad memories anymore.” She quirked her brow as if daring Peggy to say no to her.

“Where’s the bathroom?” Peggy asked after taking a moment to mull over Angie’s statement.

“Why, you gonna sleep there instead?” Angie huffed, annoyed that it was seemingly impossible for Peggy to give her a straight answer.

“Hardly.” Peggy rolled her eyes at the question. “Though considering we’ll be sleeping in the one bed tonight I’d quite like to keep up pretences as long as possible until then, and if your parents hear me going to the bathroom they’ll know we’re not changing in front of one another.”

Angie ran her eyes slowly and deliberately over the simple blue dress Peggy was wearing. “Spoil sport,” she hummed when their eyes finally met again, a soft smile curling around the corner of her lip. “Though if you insist, it’s the door next to the kitchen.” She leaned in again then and kissed Peggy’s bottom lip, drawing it in between her teeth briefly before letting it go completely and stepping away.

“I thought you said no funny business?” Peggy reminded her; lower lip still tingling where Angie’s teeth had nipped her.

Angie just shrugged. “Ain’t nothin’ funny ‘bout kissin’ my girl.” She smiled sweetly. “Now go hurry up and get changed.”

-.-.-.-

When Peggy re-entered the room in pyjama’s at least an inch too short for her Angie was already in bed, her own pyjama’s not fitting much better considering she’d left them here for a reason when she’d moved out. She had a faded copy of ‘ _Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland’_ in her hands, and she looked up from it when Peggy clicked the door shut quietly behind her, smiling fondly at the sight of her partner in such ill-fitted attire.

“Maybe next time we stay here we bring our own pyjamas,” she suggested with the faintest hint of laughter.

“Perhaps that’d be wise,” Peggy agreed, glancing down briefly to where the bottoms skimmed well above her ankle.

“Wait, so you mean you’re open to the idea of us comin’ here again sometime?” Angie had meant the comment in an offhand way, though Peggy hadn’t even stiffened up at the thought of it which was definitely a first.

“Not necessarily to stay the night,” Peggy corrected, moving towards the bed while she spoke and sliding under the covers next to Angie. “Though I think my initial reasoning for not attending family dinners with you has been made redundant.”

Angie knew she could thank Peggy for finally agreeing to come to the dinners, but at the same time she knew she didn’t have to; knew it wasn’t so much a decision Peggy had made in order to keep her happy and more a decision she’d wanted to make all along but never been brave enough to before this evening. Instead Angie smiled and leaned in against Peggy’s side, allowing her to place a quick kiss into her hairline.

“It was your favourite, wasn’t it?” Peggy hummed after a brief silence, her fingers ghosting over the open pages of ‘ _Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland’_ lying open on Angie’s lap.

“Mhm.” Angie picked the book up and turned it over to look at the cover art. “Read it when I was fourteen,” she began slowly, her fingers tracing over the illustration of the hare. “It was when I was first startin’ to realise I was queer and the idea of this whole other land that didn’t follow rules or laws like this one, and where people were free to be what they wanted…” she shrugged. “Seemed like the kinda place I wanted to be.”

Peggy wrapped an arm around Angie’s shoulder, her fingers running up and down the side of her arm. “It does sound wonderful.”

“Did,” Angie corrected quietly. “It did sound real wonderful, though if I’d been there I’d never met you, and you’re much more wonderful than any amount of mad hatters and Cheshire cats.”

“Angie darling, have I ever told you how terribly corny you can be?” Peggy scoffed.

“You love me for it though English,” Angie reminded her, leaning down then to place the book on the floor before turning and curling into Peggy’s side.

“True I suppose,” Peggy sighed melodramatically then slid down in the bed until she was lying flat and Angie was able to use her chest as a pillow.

-.-.-.-

“Thank you again for breakfast Mrs Martinelli,” Peggy reiterated for the third time that morning. “You really didn’t have to, though it was wonderful.”

“How many times will I be saying this,” Mrs Martinelli sighed. “It’s Lucilla; you can call me Lucilla dear.”

Peggy blushed for the third time that morning. “Sorry, right yes, well thank you _Lucilla_.”

Mrs Martinelli nodded happily. “Though before you go Peggy I must give you the recipe for the pasta you liked last night,” she remembered suddenly, beckoning for Peggy to follow her into the kitchen.

“Ma, the chances of Peg ever using that recipe are slim to none,” Angie snorted from where she was leaning up against the front door. “She can do most anythin’ but cook a meal.”

Lucilla glared at her daughter. “It’s never too late to learn to cook Angela,” she reminded her sternly. “Ain’t that right Peggy?”

“I’m sure we’ll find out,” Peggy replied, following Lucilla back into the kitchen. “I must say though,” she added thoughtfully now that they were alone. “Angie does rather enjoy being in charge of the kitchen, I don’t know when I’d get the chance to learn.”

“It’s a lucky thing I didn’t actually bring you in here to give you the recipe then.” This comment from Angie’s mother caught Peggy’s attention and instinctually she reached for the gun that usually rested against her hip, even though she was sure that wasn’t the nature of the danger she was currently faced with.

“Pardon?” Mrs Martinelli had become serious all of a sudden, her face reminding Peggy of the way Angie would look when she was worried about an audition or stressing over lines she couldn’t quite get.

“You and my daughter.”

For a split second Peggy was sure this was another one of her nightmares. She held her breath and waited to wake up to no avail though, and she instead realised Mrs Martinelli was staring at her waiting for a reply, waiting for something.

“I don’t… know what you mean.” Peggy scanned the room, wondered briefly how hard it would be to smash the glass in the window next to her and jump out.

“You run through her lines with her?” Mrs Martinelli asked quietly.

Peggy was thrown by the question, though she figured the kind of speech she was about to receive was the kind with a slow build. Angie’s mother would prod at her first, make her feel uncomfortable and exposed; then she’d step it up, tell her everything that was wrong with her way of life until eventually Peggy would feel like the weight of the world was closing in on her. She knew all too well how these kinds of speeches went; she also knew the best thing to do would be to stand and take it. It’s almost impossible to run from someone that wants to give you their opinion and anyway even if she could, for once Peggy was prepared to hear all the bad things about herself.

She’d hear them every day for the rest of her life if it meant Angie never had to go through the same thing. She’d hear them every minute of every day for Angie. All this, who she was and the lifestyle she lived, was worth it for Angie.

“Yes,” she replied eventually, her tone hard and even.

“You smile when she looks at you?”

“Yes.” Peggy looked at the ground.

“You stare at her when you think no one is looking?”

Peggy blushed in spite of herself. “Yes.”

“You love her?”

Peggy’s breath caught. “Yes.”

“And she loves you?”

“… Yes.” She paused. “I’m sorry.” She wasn’t sure if it was an apology for loving Angie, or an apology for Angie loving her back.

“When Angela was a teenager I made an unforgivable mistake Peggy,” Mrs Martinelli began slowly, and something in her tone made Peggy look up to meet her eye. “I made the mistake of lettin’ her think there was somethin’ she could do that would stop me from lovin her,” she sighed, and for the first time since Peggy had met her she showed her age. “I let her think that who she was and who she loved changed my love for her and I’ve never had a chance to make up for that.” She paused, took a breath. “I never can make up for that,” she added eventually. “All I can do is stand here with you now and give you my blessin’ to love my daughter, because I may not understand these tendencies you have for one another, but that doesn’t make me love her less, and as long as you’re good to her, it doesn’t make me like you less either.”

“Thank you.” It seemed like so little to say in return, though it was the sincerity behind Peggy’s words that were most important and she knew Lucilla had heard it, knew she understood.

“No Peggy Carter, thank you.”


End file.
